


Underlying Persuasion

by Beeblebrox



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beeblebrox/pseuds/Beeblebrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is much less no and much more homo.</p><p>or</p><p>Where Illya and Solo work a little more closely together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underlying Persuasion

The ride back on the Vespa is uncomfortable and fraught with tension and judgment. Which, really, could describe Illya Kuryakin in a nutshell.

“Solo, do _not_ bring us around the front of the hotel.” The irate Russian hisses into his ear, riding pillion. The man is so agitated he doesn’t seem to notice his death grip on Solo’s suit. In the spirit of almost leaving the man to die, Solo doesn’t say anything about it. Though he could do to loosen up.

“Not my intention.” Is all he says before taking a sharp turn into an alleyway. He brings them around back of the hotel, maneuvering over the Italian cobblestone road, to take another sharp turn. He pulls up on the side of the hotel and scans for suspicious faces. “We don’t have much time if they’re smart.”

Illya is already maneuvering his ridiculously long legs, pulling himself off the bike. Solo leaves it with the keys for someone else to steal.

He strides after Illya through the hotel entrance and a tall, posh blonde with her back to them has his alarm bells ringing. He curses and pushes Illya to go the roundabout way to the stairs. He supposes it’s not a surprise she would come herself. “Victoria and her lackeys are at the check-in. Probably called ahead to see if I was in my room.”

Illya falters a little. “Can they come up without an invitation?” He tenses and asks hotly, “Do you think they would have checked me too?”

Solo doesn’t think the idea would immediately present itself despite Gaby Teller, recently extracted from East Berlin, and her fiancé coincidentally showing up out of the blue to see her criminally inclined uncle right before an attempted robbery occurred. Well. “We don’t have time to ask Gaby if they did.” They climb the stairs quickly, and with Illya’s room on the floor below Solo’s they have to plan whether or not they’ll separate and play dumb or combine efforts to fight off a possible attack. Solo could play it as having been in the shower, but who knows what Gaby had said about Illya. They should have planned for this. Cocky error. Which, admittedly, is one of Solo’s many vices.

What would cover most bases? If Gaby did cover for Illya, and if someone did or didn’t sense the lie...

Solo tilts his head as an idea flourishes in his mind. “Follow me.”

___

To say what Solo had planned went over Illya’s head was not an understatement... it was right on the money. Really, even as he follows Solo’s instructions to take off his shirt it doesn’t hit him.

Solo pops his head out of his hotel room bathroom, shower now hissing in the background. When he looks at Illya, his eyebrows shoot up before he disappears again. “Well come on my man, hurry it up. The pants too.”

Illya blinks. “My what? Why do I have to take off my—“

Solo comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Well come on now.” The infuriating American says playfully. “Don’t be shy.” At Solo’s doubtful indication of Illya’s… _package_ , he tugs at his belt spitefully.

When Illya’s pants drop, he steps out of them challengingly with a thumb hesitating at the band of his undergarments.

“No, it’s all right. You don’t have to.” Solo smiles softly and nods back towards the bathroom.

Illya’s mind races for something clever or funny to say to break the tension he’s feeling, despite that always being a losing battle. He goes for the easy shot. “Interesting method of covering your tracks, agent. Indicates an _underlying persuasion_ , no?”

Solo looks from Illya’s toes to his eyes and shrugs in that annoyingly consistent, nonchalant attitude. “It’s likely.”

Illya flounders. “What _exactly_ do you have in mind?”

The light shining through the cracks of the hall door flicker, indicating feet stopping in front of it. Illya only has time to point before he is dragged towards the bathroom. He should be alarmed at the rate in which Solo maneuvers and shoves him into the shower.

It’s a few silent seconds with his eyes closed and the rush of water until he opens them and notices the towel Solo had on slung on a chair across the bathroom. Being almost half a head taller, Illya has to tilt his face down to find Solo with his arms bracketing him.

Solo is assessing their position. He seems to decide something and grabs one of Illya’s hands to place on his head as he kneels down and plucks at the still present briefs.

That brings Illya fully to the present. “Wait.” He grips Solo’s hair to tug him back and lean away from him, which makes him slip a little with his bare feet on the wet floor. Solo gets unbalanced too, and ends up grabbing Illya’s thighs to level himself. Confusion and internal conflict keep Illya’s mouth slightly open and a frown on his face, when..

“Oh my, what will dear Gaby think?”

Victoria is standing a few steps outside of the open bathroom door, and it finally, totally, hits him what Solo has done.

“A few moments privacy to get dressed please. We can… explain.” Solo grits out. He’s still kneeling before Illya, who can’t help the violent blush that overtakes him.

“Don’t bother.” Victoria says, and Illya tenses as she steps forward. “Saw each other at the tracks, noticed you were both staying at the same hotel. Was this business or just pleasure, my dear?” She smiles meanly at Solo and claps her hands together once. “Unfortunately for you I am not the type of woman to keep secrets for a thief and an indecisive Russian. Particularly when they’re homosexuals. No, I think I’ll take Gaby’s side on this one. Too bad, I came to have a little fun tonight.” She glides one hand up the doorframe and leans elegantly against it, looking them both up and down. “Unless you’d be amicable to my joining you?”

“ _No_.” Illya spits.

“Oh well.” Victoria says, shrugging. She eyes them one more time before flouncing away.

“That was your…” Solo’s hand covers Illya’s mouth. Illya shoves at it, horrified to note he’d still had his hand in the other man’s hair. Solo’s face is suddenly in front of him, and he’s placing a finger over his lips. Illya nods at the command and keeps his eyes upwards as Solo walks out of the shower and wraps himself in the towel again. A few moments later Solo is crossing the hotel room with a bug detector, Illya hears him checking under cushions and opening drawers. Illya stops the shower and runs a hand through his wet hair.

“Clean.” Solo says after he clicks the hall door shut from looking to make sure Victoria was really gone.

“ _That_ was you plan?” Illya wasn’t going to give the question up.

“Yes. And it worked, considering we’re still standing here and no one’s dead.”

And what a sight they make, standing there. Illya flips the switch he turns on when he’s in the training barracks or out in the field in close living quarters with fellow agents. There is no need to be uncomfortable when it is for the mission.

“But my cover’s reputation is ruined and she’s going to Gaby! I have to go to her, a Russian man would never let someone else tell his woman his sins.”

Solo looks at him for a long stretch of seconds and says, “Yeah, go. I’ll cover you.”

___

Illya takes the steps down two at a time, buttoning his shirt up as he goes. He carries himself quickly through the carpeted halls, knowing Solo will keep up, and bursts through his room’s door to find Victoria looming and Gaby packing. There are two, supposedly, dangerous looking men standing on each side of the door.

Gaby licks her lips and drops what she had been folding into her suitcase. She keeps her eyes down as she walks slowly towards him, lifts them right as she stops before him. She’s so small... he reaches out to push away a bit of hair stuck on her glossy lips.

She slaps him.

“You couldn’t keep it in your pants for a few days?” She asks, voice wrecked. For a moment he thinks she is truly upset, it’s so pained. He’s not sure why she’s playing it this way, either. If she leaves with Victoria, there’s no way to protect her.

“I’m so s--”

“No.” She hushes him. “I already knew, you know? All that clothing advice was…” She shakes her head and he bristles internally at her reality based comment. “I made excuses for you because you saved me from that hellhole, but I need space and Victoria has graciously offered me a stay on her island for time to spend with my uncle.”

“This is… it’s too sudden. How will I reach you? Perhaps take the night to think about it… we should talk about this _in private_.” About the mission, about how dangerous separating is without a concrete plan.

“There's nothing to talk about.” She says coldly, turning around. As she grabs items from the top of her dresser, she doesn’t look at him as she tells him to leave.

He feels rooted in place, mind turning, until Victoria steps into his vision and makes a shooing motion. “Well go on now.” Her guards shift in warning.

He could just kill them now. But what would that get them? No weapon, that’s for sure.

His walk back up to Solo’s room is a pensive affair. The other man is silent until they get back.

“I couldn’t hear from where I was.” Solo says.

“Gaby is leaving with Victoria.. by choice.”

“Ah, good.”

“ _Good_?”

“Yes, I assume she gave you something to go off of?”

Before he says no, he pauses in realization. “Victoria’s island. Gaby’s ring is a bug, she probably guessed it... oh.” He looks at Solo, who blinks innocently. “You did too. We’ll be able to track her. Maybe that’s where she thinks her father is.”

Solo fixes his hands on his hips. “Bold.” He smirks. “I like it.”

___

They alert their superiors and meet at the closest fully functional military base. They are to load up in a small aircraft carrier while awaiting Gaby’s tracker to lead them to the island. America, Russia, and England are pulling their forces together into a substantial task force to stop the transport of the weapon of mass destruction.

Solo is fussing with the straps of his body armor when a familiar face sits in front of him on the carrier.

“Waverly, British Intelligence.” The man from the party, who he’d stolen his invitation from, says. 

“Ah.”

“Yes, right. Well.” He fixes his hands on his knees. “Where is your other half?”

On queue, Illya ducks into the bay door as if too tall for the massive entrance. Solo finds himself annoyed at the lug of a man, particularly when Illya decides to sit down right next to him. Their legs almost touching. Solo shifts.

“Gaby is a top priority.” Waverly squints. “Well, I should say, she is actually one of ours. So.”

“Gaby is British Intelligence.” Solo sighs loudly. Should have guessed. Maybe.

“We recruited her to attract the interest of Alexander and Victoria, for the exact purpose they were so interested in her company to begin with. To get her to talk her father back into working on the weapon. However, when we implanted her at the shop in Germany, it was, unfortunately, you who showed up.” Despite the accusation, Waverly doesn’t seem particularly upset. Been there, done that seems to be his general inclination.

Illya, annoyingly, looks shocked. “That is why she went with Victoria?”

“Saw an opening and took it. I did also tell her to set up a lunch meeting without you, but this works just as well. Bright young spirit, that one. I do think she likes you two. And we all like Gaby, so if we could please make sure she does not perish, that would be excellent.”

Solo vaguely narrows his eyes. “You got it.”

___

Solo and Illya are granted their own agency on the front lines of the infiltration, thankfully. It wouldn’t do for Solo to sit back and watch someone else save the day. Breaking into the _castle_ , queue eye-roll, base is quick and efficient, though that is not to say there is no opposition. When they get to the roof of the area they’d mapped out as Gaby’s general location, he and Illya note a ramp going downwards into a different section of the base. Solo feels an innate connection in the nod they share before moving side-by-side into the belly of the beast.

There’s a firefight, but their automatic weapons make quick work of the enemies. A few surprise them from around a corner, but Illya knocks one out right as Solo shoots them. Illya keeps moving, but Solo’s priceless-bauble trained eyes catch a glint of something on one of the men’s wrists.

“I’ll be damned.” Illya’s grandfather’s watch is sitting pretty right there before him. He only gives himself a few seconds to ruminate over the universe apparently trying to force an _underlying persuasion_ for his goofy, if not capable, Russian partner to the forefront. He nicks the watch and saves the day in impeccable fashion.

___

 The problem with the orders to kill Solo for the computer disk can be excused as conflict of morals. But Illya had done… _many_ cold-hearted things to rise in the ranks of the KGB and prove himself a man; better than his father, better than everyone else for that matter. He thinks it might be because he had stopped a very evil group of people from hurting a lot of very innocent people with this man. That underneath the veneer of an almost sociopathic charm, Illya is sure Solo is a good man.

He swallows, listening to Solo ramble on while he packs his suitcase. They’re to head out of the hotel today, mission over. He pulls out a gun, shaking so badly he actually hopes Solo notices. Notices that this is difficult for him. There is a conflict in his mind, but there are also strict orders. He tries to force the power of his anger to take over, to blind himself with red to be able to kill Solo for the disk without really looking. Solo makes a move for something in his suitcase, and Illya’s heart nearly implodes in the way it breaks and fills with terror at the same time. As Solo is turning around, he knows he’ll probably die if he doesn’t move out of the way because… _I can't shoot him_.

 He shudders at his failure.

 Solo tosses something.

 Illya blinks when he realizes he’s caught it with his free hand. He knows it’s not the disk, part of it cool to the touch. He looks.

 He tamps down a violent stagger backwards, gun arm falling to his side.

 “My grandfather’s watch, how…. You?” He frowns, confused. Had Solo had it this whole time?

 “One of the men we killed at the base was the man who stole it from you. I was lucky enough to notice it.” Solo’s hands are in his pockets, and he looks… soft, somehow. It makes Illya’s hair stand on end.

 “Why didn’t you give it to me before?” Illya has to clear his throat, surprised at his voice's thickness.

 “Was deciding if I was going to keep it.” Illya feels his chest puff up in anger, eyes widening. He is stopped by Solo’s pleasant, pleased, laughter. “I’m kidding. I have a flair for theatrics, what can I say? I wanted to give it to you as a parting gift, considering we’ll be going our separate ways.” He has a lopsided smile, then, and Illya has to pull a little at his collar.

 “Well…” His hand grips the watch, relief overcoming him. “Despite that… this means a great deal to me.” He looks directly into Solo’s eyes, man to man. Solo seems surprised and shifts, pulling his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. “You have my deepest thanks, Napoleon Solo. I owe you for this.”

 Illya notices Solo swallow thickly and look away. The American scratches his chin and points a thumb behind himself. “Even though I have the disk?”

 Illya’s anger is slower to activate, but he frowns, a little hurt at the ruined comradery.

 Solo seems to notice because he puts two placating hands up. “Kidding again. There was something else I thought appropriate as a parting of ways. A, uh, tribute, I guess you could say.” He picks up the disk and closes the distance to Illya. Illya hesitates when the disk is held out before him. He takes it though, and flips it over in his hands. Solo continues. “The plans for making some of the deadliest nuclear weapons in the world is in that small, hideously colored shell of plastic. Which of our governments can be trusted to protect its secrets?”

 The answer, to Illya, is immediately apparent. But he shares the realization of what Solo means by sharing a silent look with him. He is overcome with the satisfaction that he was right in his judgment, _Solo is a good man_. He can feel the smile that blooms all the way to his eyes. He can feel it because it has been a while since he smiled like that.

 “Oh.”

 Illya realizes belatedly, as he seems to do often in Solo’s presence, that the other man’s eyes are trained on his smile. Tracing it with his eyes, until he comes back to Illya’s. Illya is immediately reminded of his response to his joke about persuasions. It’s likely. He finds himself genuinely nervous, blushing again, for some reason.

 Solo seems to notice, he reads him too well, and he suddenly looks nauseous. He starts backing away, but is stopped. Illya notices his own hand gripping Solo’s wrist.

 “Solo, what…?” _Is this? What is this between us? I’ve never_ …

 “Boys?” Gaby’s sing song call is like ice. She pushes through the door and smiles at them. “Oh good, you haven’t killed each other.” She smiles genuinely, but her eyes trace down the lines of their arms to the link between them. “Yet?”

 Illya drops his hold and turns bodily away, towards her. “Come to say goodbye?”

 She tips her head and sighs. “Yes, but not without sharing a stiff drink with you. Come to the roof so we can have a proper goodbye.” She turns, the cuts on her shoulder a bright red contrast to her olive skin and white dress.

 A silence falls in the room, broken by the fabric of Solo’s suit making noise as he walks away.

Illya is many things; is often preceded by stereotypical expectations of a Russian man. He has played into a lot of them to be culturally acceptable enough to get to where he is today. He lists them, often, verbally. But sometimes he notices an ability in himself to look beyond them and be self-aware. He thinks that ability is rather what makes him an excellent agent. That self-awareness and intuitiveness give him that extra boost, those extra moves. He may not be as elegant as Solo, but he still gets there in his own way; usually with brute force. He’s not totally sure what’s happening between them, but he knows it’s _something_.

Instead of going to the door, climbing the stairs to the roof, and sharing a nice drink of repressed curiosity with Gaby, he walks after Solo.

“I am not a fan of ambiguity.” Illya tries.

Solo smiles good-naturedly, but Illya notices his lips are thinned. “Apologies. I sometimes forget to turn the charm off.”

Illya is surprised he’s directly addressing it if he’s going to lie so badly about it. “Even with a man?”

Solo clicks his tongue. “Yes, well, I realize you consider it a sin or what have you, but I’ve trained myself not to care. A mark’s a  mark and it seems to have worked in diffusing the tension in the room. Anyway, Gaby’s drink sounds even better at this point, so--”

“I do?” At Solo’s blank stare. “I hadn’t realized I shared that sort of social view with you.”

“A Russian man would never let someone else tell his woman his sins.” Solo repeats his statement, likely verbatim.

Illya arches his eyebrows and crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame. “I was speaking about the adultery you had me committing, but I see how it could have been taken that way.” Illya is starting to get the picture, and it almost makes him laugh if he wasn’t sure it was a little sad. “I don’t think it diffused the tension at all. In fact, I think you made it stronger.” He allows his accent to drip thickly across the words.

Illya seems to have made Solo speechless for once in his life.

“You can finish packing later, Gaby is waiting.” He pushes off the doorframe and swaggers away with a light hearted feeling in his chest.

___

Solo is on his third drink.

Somehow the burning computer disk on the table beside him is outshadowed by his preceding conversation with Illya. The sun feels unnaturally hot, and he’s irritated by his inability not to think about it. Especially with Illya leaning against the same railing not two feet away from him.

He’d had the opportunity to have trysts with governesses and princesses from foreign lands, his looks and style alone could seduce most anyone, and yet it was this… brute, that had him overwhelmed with the god damned vapors.

Of course it’s then that Waverly shows up and alerts them to their new status as a secret counter espionage and law enforcement agency. They’ll be working closely together from here on out.

God damn it all.


End file.
